Hold It Against Me
by A.Diamond
Summary: "If I told you you have a nice body," the man he's been grinding on starts after they've been going a while.


Merlin loves to dance. Surrounded by music, lights, and bodies, letting himself get swept up in the rhythm of it all, it's his favorite way to wind down from a stressful week.

When he gets to the club, he gravitates to the corner of the bar and just watches the movement on the dance floor. It takes a few songs and a drink for the tension in his spine to relax enough for him to think about joining in. His shoulders start to sway without conscious thought, then his hips. He's setting his empty glass on the bartop and making for the edge of the floor before he knows he's decided to.

The electronic melody fills all the tired, empty spaces in his chest with sparks of lightning and his heartbeat pulses in time to the bass vibrating up through his feet. He's dancing solo for now, but he's not alone. Dozens of bodies move around his, a lively blend of joy and lust that revitalizes him more the deeper he falls into it.

He gains and loses company as he works towards the center of the room; some men move in close with the roll of his hips for a few beats as he passes, others who reel him in for minutes at a time. Near the heart of the floor, he spends rather a long time sandwiched between a blazingly attractive couple. He's more prop than partner as they use him to rub up on each other, but he still feels an anchoring human connection as they dance and that's good enough for him. He figures it's time to move on when they start making out across him, though.

He's on his own only a little while before another body moves in behind him, presumptuously close from the start: chest flush against his back, crotch pressed to his ass, arms wrapped around him so hands can grip the crease of his hips. It's nice. He circles his own arms back around the man's neck, drops his head back and closes his eyes, and dances.

"If I told you you have a nice body," the man he's been grinding on starts after they've been going a while.

Merlin loses the rhythm for a moment with laughter. "Piss off," he says, and though he's more amused than put off, he steps away on principle. He finishes out the song face to face with a cute jock—muscle shirt, spiked hair, young and nervous. He needs a bit of help finding the rhythm, but Merlin's taught boys to dance before.

As soon as the beat changes, someone crowds up to his back and he knows without looking that it's his last dance partner. Hands close over his hip bones, thumbs brushing the bare strip of skin revealed by the gap between shirt and pants. Breath puffs hot against the back of Merlin's neck, stopping just short of nuzzling at the hair there. He dances like he's fucking, but fucking well. Slow. Sensual. Possessive.

"Your ass looks great in those jeans. I bet it'd look even better in my bed."

Merlin bumps back with the aforementioned ass—a shove, not a dance move—and it sends his admirer stumbling back a step. With the distraction, he takes the even more confused jock by the hand and leads him back to the couple, who've returned to dancing and are happy to plaster themselves around him. The kid looks equal parts terrified and ecstatic, so Merlin leaves him there and returns to the bar. He's been dancing long enough to want another drink.

"Come here often?" a familiar voice asks while he waits for it.

Though he could easily turn to face the man, this unseen anonymity seems to be part of his game, so Merlin indulges it.

But only a little.

"You don't take no for an answer, do you?"

"I would, but you haven't said no."

He's right behind Merlin again, close enough for dancing even though they're at the bar, and he's not wrong. In a rare turn, Merlin finds himself without a snappy comeback. Studiously ignoring the man's words and admittedly enticing nearness, he watches the bartender fill his glass the rest of the way with tonic and slide it over. The other man reaches out to take it before Merlin can, and for a stunned moment all he can do is watch it disappear out of his peripheral vision.

By the time he spins around, it's already tilted against smirking lips as the man takes a long, savoring sip. His eyes don't leave Merlin's as his throat bobs. This is clearly a step too far and Merlin has every right to be outraged.

"Wanker!" he accuses hotly.

The man smiles and it makes his blue eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "Not if i can get you to come home with me," he says. "I'm Arthur."

Merlin knows he's done for. It must say things about his character that he has absolutely no desire to examine, but beautiful and arrogant has always been his type. He's got a line of bad decisions and worse exes to show for it, but he's still managed to emerge unscathed enough not to have learned his lesson. He rolls his eyes and turns away, but what he says is, "You're buying me another drink."

Arthur's laugh is unbearably delightful. It still rings in Merlin's ears when his drink arrives moments later. Then Arthur's voice drowns it out. "And what should I call you while you're screaming my name?"

Merlin thinks, then decides he's really doing this. He was looking for stress relief, and he already knows Arthur moves well. Still, he throws back his g&t like a shot to fortify himself.

"Merlin."

"Merlin, let's dance. And by dance, I mean—"

"Yeah. Shut up and take me to yours before I change my mind."

Arthur brackets him in and convinces him, without cheesy pick up lines or words at all, that he shouldn't.


End file.
